


all that can rest

by harpydora, lady_mab



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Other, Post-Miracle of the Mirage, Season: Twilight Mirage, fraught hair-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 18:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13530264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harpydora/pseuds/harpydora, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_mab/pseuds/lady_mab
Summary: Itwasfive on one and now it was two on one and if they could just… If they could just hold on alittle bit longer.Then Grand and Tender would be safely off the planet with the stolen medical supplies and—… And, well, maybe they could get out of this. Maybe they could make it one on one. Maybe they could walk away from this.





	all that can rest

**Author's Note:**

> This started because we both thought it would be fun for post-Miracle Grand to save Echo, and also because there needs to be more Grand/Echo in the world.
> 
> Title from "Hush" by Dotan.

It _was_ five on one: Echo Reverie vs. Finder Harrow and his gang of bandits. That was what they repeated to themself as their back hit the ground and the wind knocked out of their lungs.

It _was_ five on one and now it was two on one and if they could just… If they could just hold on a _little bit longer_. Then Grand and Tender would be safely off the planet with the stolen medical supplies and—… And, well, maybe they could get out of this. Maybe they could make it one on one. Maybe they could walk away from this.

But they couldn’t hold their breath. Not when they were yanked off the floor, head pounding, blood trickling from their nose. Not when the only reason they could stay upright was the woman holding their arms behind their back.

Things weren’t looking great, but they’ve had worse odds.

Echo grunted as Finder punched them in the stomach, but that was the only reaction they would allow. They strained against the other asshole pinning their arms behind them, but she was huge and her arms were as big around as Echo's waist (or that's how it felt).

"You gonna tell us where your friends went with our goods?" Finder sneered. Echo spat blood at his feet; he snarled and pulled back to deliver another blow.

It never got a chance to land. Dropping from the rafters, angling so his heel caught Harrow square in the face, fell Grand Magnificent. They collapsed in a heap with Grand on top and Finder groaning. As far as entrances went, Echo had seen (had _made_ ) better, but the important part was the one where Grand was standing up and the other guy wasn't.

Oh, sure, he _tried,_ but Grand grabbed the collar of his shirt and clocked him right on the bridge of his nose. Again, and again, and again until the man’s face was coated in red. He scrambled for Grand’s jacket, fingers twisting in the fabric, foot aiming a kick into his gut.

Somehow, Grand avoided it, shoving him back onto the floor. And in the same fluid motion as his fist drew back, Grand grabbed the gun from its holster at his side and drove the butt of it into Finder’s temple.

The man crumbled with a soft, gutted sound.

Unfortunately, none of this did anything about the woman at Echo's back. She shifted her grip, wrenched Echo's arms up until they moved with her, then clamped her free arm around Echo's neck. Something cold bit at the curve of their throat. From the corner of their good eye, they saw the glint of the overhead light on metal.

Bringing a knife to a fist-fight, huh? Echo distantly wondered where their sword had gone in all of this.

The blade at their throat pressed hard enough to break skin. "That's enough, Prettyboy. You've had your fun. Now stop punching my associate before you make me get ugly."

Grand’s back was ramrod straight as his arm snapped up into place. His fingers gripped the gun, knuckles white. "Let them go."

Her arm tightened around Echo’s throat, and they allowed themselves the seconds of scrambling at her meaty forearm to try and relieve the pressure. Not too long, or the fear might start to set in. "You’re not going to do it," she snarled. "You’ve only got one shot, and you’re more likely to hit your friend here than me."

He moved without hesitation. Gun-arm dropped, aiming at the man on the ground, gaze steady. Finger pulled the trigger. Finder's groaning ceased. Grand didn’t flinch.

There was a moment, though, a brief second, when his eyes met Echo’s as he lifted the barrel of the gun back in their direction. They knew that expression, knew it intimately, but it was painfully unfamiliar on Grand. Echo’s stomach twisted and their heart lurched in their chest. They wanted to pull the gun from his hands, but they couldn’t even get enough room to breathe.

Grand thumbed back the hammer. "I said let them go."

Echo could feel the conflict in the woman holding them, could feel her chest rumble as she said, "You wouldn’t—"

He did.

Something warm hit Echo’s cheek, but their ears rang and static buzzed in place of their thoughts and they couldn’t look away from him.

A beat, then two, then the arm around their throat went slack. The presence at their back slipped, then dropped, and they took a gulp of air and a stumbling step forward.

"Grand…?" they said, voice as loud as their throat would let them talk. It ached with the promise of a bruise and the memory of the knife.

The steely expression dropped from Grand's face, replaced first with relief and then with dawning realization. He flinched then, the entire motion wrenching his body back several paces. Echo recognized that, too. They gave him credit for having the wherewithal to holster his pistol and stumble away from the bodies before emptying the contents of his stomach.

"Grand," they tried again, a bit louder. Their footsteps grew steadier as they approached his side. Their hand landed on his back, between his shoulders. "C’mon, we need to get out of here."

"Giv’mmoment." His words slurred together, coughed out as he spit whatever lingering taste from his mouth. "You okay?"

_I’m fine_ was the automatic response, coming to their tongue and resting heavy there. It took a deal of effort to swallow down the lie. "I will be. Get up. I’m here. I’ll help you." They stooped until they could pull one of Grand’s trembling arms from where it braced him against the floor.

He let them drape it around their shoulders, and together they struggled to their feet.

The walk toward the base's airlock took what felt like forever; a struggle to put one foot in front of the other, trying to match each other's stride well enough not to topple over. More than once, Grand stumbled, and Echo caught him. The pain wasn't blinding, but Echo found themself having to focus on their breathing, on the reassuring weight of Grand's arm slung across their shoulders.

After an eternity of pushing, the pair dragged themselves through the bulkhead. Grand, for all that he was shaking, managed to key in the lock code to close the door and smash the panel so it couldn't be opened. Safe for the moment, they both collapsed against the airlock door.

Grand turned to face Echo, a wry smile on his lips. Breathless, he said, "Guess that makes us even now."

Echo’s gut twisted uncomfortably at the memory—of the hall, of their sword, of the Duke. Instead, they reached for Grand’s hand. Their thumb skimmed across the skin of his knuckles, already darkening into a bruise. A question came, unbidden, chasing itself in circles through their mind.

It scattered just as quickly as it rose, however, as the tips of Grand’s fingers grazed over their cheek. There was a hint of pressure, his thumb tracing something only he could see. Wiping something away.

Their legs finally gave out, and they all but pulled Grand down onto the floor with them.

Echo's heart thudded in their chest, a mixture of adrenaline and other emotions welling up. They held Grand's hand gently in their own. Lifted it slowly enough to give him a chance to pull away. They ducked their head so that they couldn’t see his face as they left a kiss to his knuckles, lips ghosting over damaged skin.

Grand responded with a soft intake of breath, and his touch against their cheek became a palm pressed to skin. Warm and comforting and still trembling.

They let out a shuddering breath and let themself lean forward by slow degrees until their forehead rested against Grand's. His fingers slid into their hair, curled around the back of their skull.

The two of them stayed like that, leaning against each other, until Grand finally broke the silence. He pitched his words low despite there being no one to overhear. "I heard you never stopped looking. Even told me."

Echo's heart leapt into their throat. "I was looking for a lot of people," they hedged.

"Did you find them?" Grand asked, his words barely a whisper.

"I found some," they admitted, and for a moment, they were back at the end of the war. The last time they saw any of their friends before shipping off to Altar. They remembered the look on Even’s face as he said, _Grand’s missing. We thought he got a ride back with Corinne, but…_

(Later, when they learned what happened, they longed to see him if only to punch him. He deserved that much.)

They closed their eyes and leaned into his touch. Focused on the weight of him, holding their face with delicate precision. And the memory of that year _hurt_. "I’m sorry I couldn’t find you," they managed, voice cracking on the words.

Grand's laugh (if it could be called that, it was barely more than a voiced puff of air) startled them into opening their eyes. The shadow of something—what just happened, or maybe his own memories of that year—haunted Grand's face. That hurt, too. "I… I didn't want to be found."

"What about now?" they demanded. "If I had to go looking for you now, would you just… just keep hiding?" Something hot and wet rolled down Echo's face. Had there been a cut they hadn't noticed was bleeding? The pad of Grand's thumb swiped at the corner of their eye and— _fuck,_ when had they started crying?

Grand’s fingers laced with their own, gripping their hand as tightly as he could manage with the injured knuckles. "No," he said with such a degree of surety that Echo didn’t know how to interpret. "I wouldn’t even make you look." The hand against their cheek held them steady. "We’re in this together now, right?"

Echo swallowed down the kernel of disappointment. Right—this was a team thing. They were part of a larger team, and Grand had found his place again. "Is this why you came back?"

Grand looked away and snorted, such a familiar noise of contempt that Echo tightened their grip on his hand. "Like hell it was."

"I told everyone to get out and you didn’t listen. Grand, you—… What you did…" They gestured to his hand, his bruised and split knuckles, but meant so much more than that.

Grand spared a moment to look at their joined hands before lifting his gaze to match Echo’s. The hand against their cheek slipped down a degree—not to pull away like they thought, but to let him press the pad of his thumb against the corner of their lips. "They would have hurt you if I hadn’t done something."

Echo didn’t know what their feelings were doing. Because they were hurt—but it would have been worse if he hadn’t shown up. "I would have handled it," they said with the same confidence they used when they told the rest of the team to leave first. That they would act as the barricade. "I always do."

His huff of laughter warmed a spot on Echo’s cheek. "Didn’t I _just_ say that we’re in this together?"

*

Getting back to _The World Without End_ proved far less exciting, a fact that Echo was grateful for. Grand's personal vehicle barely managed to fit them both; the only way they managed was through a bit of contortion on Echo's part that left them hunched behind the pilot's seat. After the beating they'd taken, every muscle in their body screamed by the time they docked. But at least they'd escaped. At least everyone had made it home.

Echo claimed one of the shower units in the bathing area to scrub off the grime and sweat and blood as soon as they'd determined there were no broken bones and nothing needed stitches. It wasn't as good as a nice, long soak in a tub, but they'd take what they could get.

An hour later, having bandaged the cuts that needed bandaging and changing into clothes that weren't torn or bloodstained, Echo claimed a space in one of the ship's common areas. Their hair had grown long enough to once again get tangled and snarled while they were… working.

That's how Grand found them: perched on a chair and stubbornly working a brush through their hair.

Echo turned as they heard the footsteps. They still weren’t used to seeing Grand dressed in something that might be considered ‘normal’, but gone were the mostly flamboyant fashion choices. There were definitely still traces, certainly, but not like the Grand in their memory.

He didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he stood awkwardly on the outskirts of the chairs, watching, looking like he wanted to say something.

So Echo resumed picking at a knot with far more attention than it really deserved. But it served as a decent distraction.

"Can I—?" Grand started, though the rest of the sentence died in his throat as Echo met his gaze. Then, visibly gulping, he gestured and took a step forward. "Would you like a hand with that?"

They froze. Only the white-knuckled grip on the brush kept it from tumbling into their lap. It had been a long time since anyone had bothered _asking,_ and longer still since they'd considered saying yes. But the memory of Grand's hand on their cheek, gentle as he wiped away blood and—other things—was still fresh. His fingers warm and sure as they rested against the back of their head, tangled in their hair, keeping Echo grounded before their thoughts could chase themselves in a panicked spiral.

Briefly, they allowed themself to wonder what it would be like to let him run his fingers through their hair. If his fingers would—…

They must have been taking too long to deliberate, because Grand shifted from foot to foot as he started inching back out of the room. "Sorry, I'll just—"

Echo cut him off. "Yeah. Okay. I could use a little help."

Grand rocked forward on the balls of his feet without taking a step.

They caught the wide-eyed look of surprise on his face, and they couldn’t help the little smirk that took over as they held out the hairbrush. "You know how this works, right?"

This at least managed to snap him out of whatever sort of thought process he had. He scoffed, striding forward with his old confident swagger. "Do I know how this works," Grand muttered as he pulled a seat closer to where Echo sat. "I’ll show _you_ how this works."

Echo couldn't help but smirk. "All right, _Mr. Magnificent,_ show me how it's done." Grand opened his mouth as if to say something, but Echo has already put the hairbrush on his open palm and gently closed his fingers around the handle. They let their fingertips linger over his knuckles; the skin of his hands was rubbed red, probably in a desperate attempt at cleaning off the memory of what he had done.

Without waiting to see his reaction, they turned around in their chair to present their hair to Grand.

There was a beat, then two, but before Echo could ask if he really did know how to use a brush, the first, tentative touch of his hand grazed across their neck as he took the strands in his grip.

The first few passes of the brush barely even registered. When it seemed obvious that Grand wasn't applying any pressure with the bristles, Echo rolled their eyes. "I'm not _fragile,_ you know."

Grand's hands paused. Shit, did he think Echo was referring to… before? Quickly, they added, "You won't get the tangles out if you just keep poking at them politely. I thought you said you know how this works?"

"I _do_ know how this works," Grand huffed. Echo didn't need to turn around to know the exact affronted expression that he must be wearing. When he set to work this time, his motions were far less timid.

Echo's head jerked back on one particularly strong tug, and they laughed at the suddenness of it.

"Sorry," Grand muttered, and set the brush down to work his fingers through the knot. "I always forget how different it is for other people."

"Other people?" They tried to look back at him through the corner of their eyes, but all they could see was their own hair.

He made a small sound and parted their hair over their shoulder. "Were you imagining me with long hair just now?"

"No. I was trying to imagine you stooping down off your ‘Mr Magnificent’ throne to brush someone's hair."

This time, the touch on the back of their neck was deliberate, and Echo couldn't suppress the shiver that raced down their spine. "Is it really so hard to imagine me with a younger sibling?"

That gave Echo pause. Grand Magnificent had usually been a self-contained force of ego, both deeply flawed but assured of his own greatness. But, as they considered the man behind them, they realized: "No. I mean, when we were down there, I never thought about people having families. It was just a dumb errand and I didn't want to care. But I guess I can see you with a Tiny Magnificent trying to get you to play dress-up."

Grand chuckled as his fingers moved on to the next snarl. "Their name is Boundless Revelry. We haven't talked much since they went to go tour with their dance troupe on the _By-and-By_ , but they used to send me letters sometimes."

"I bet you were an insufferable older brother," Echo said, words light and teasing. Grand laughed again.

"The worst!"

The silence that followed was easy and comfortable, like slipping on a favorite jacket. It was broken only by the occasional contented hum from Echo or a vaguely disgruntled noise as Grand untangled a particularly stubborn knot.

Finally, Grand carded his fingers through Echo's hair, testing that he hadn't missed any other tangles.

They almost didn’t catch the sigh trying to escape their mouth in time as his nails followed the cover of their hair just above their ear. They let their eyes slip shut, careful to maintain their posture. When Grand’s hand finally pulled away with one last lingering graze on the knob of their spine, Echo finally said, "You didn’t have to do that, you know."

They could hear the brush setting down on the floor and, to their surprise, Grand’s fingers returning to their hair. "Alright, I didn’t think I did such a _bad job_." He separated the dark strands into chunks and began to deftly weave them together. "Despite whatever you think about my hair, I am good at doing other’s—"

"No, not the hair. You did a great job on the hair." A small smile ticked at the corner of their lips, but fell just as quickly. "I just… I never did say thank you for what you did. For what you had to do."

Grand didn’t respond. His hands continued their methodical work.

Echo’s chest tightened with each silent second that passed. Just before they thought they would burst from the tension, Grand used the end of their braid to tickle their ear and then thwap them lightly on the cheek.

"Hey—!"

Grand leaned forward, the heat from his body remained a reassuring presence without feeling like it was closing in. One hand lighted on Echo’s hip before immediately flitting away—so quickly that they weren’t even sure there was a touch except for the fact that every little inch of them that Grand touched suddenly felt too warm.

His nose pressed to the side of their head and they went still, tension bleeding from their limbs. "Echo. You would have done the same for me," he said, as if they already hadn’t, as if that could ever just be a one-time thing.

They shied away, from Grand or the memory, they couldn't say. The motion left Grand with his nose resting against the back of their head. "It wasn't supposed to be like that." Echo kept their voice pitched low. The sound—memory—of those two gunshots rang through their head. "You were supposed to be _safe._ "

"What about you?" Grand demanded. His hand rested like an almost accusatory weight on their shoulder. "Who's supposed to keep _you_ safe?"

The urge to shake Grand off was so strong that Echo could nearly taste it—salty and sour like blood or tears. "I would've been fine," they said instead. "You didn't—didn't need to do _that._ " The last word came out more like a curse.

Grand did not react, did not flinch, did not move his hand. Did not make a sound. By contrast, Echo's blood rushed in their ears, a dull noise that roared in counterpoint to their rising frustration. "That _fucks_ with you, Grand. It was bad enough that I had to leave you rotting in some spaceport somewhere, but I thought that maybe now that I—we had you back, maybe…" God, their heart hurt all over again. "I would've handled it. It would've been fine. You would've been safe."

They tensed when Grand's hand moved, but he only shifted it so he could brush Echo's braid out of the way. His fingertips were so warm, and his breath against the nape of their neck was even warmer. "I'm… I'm not going to pretend I'm okay about—about _that_ ," he whispered. "But I'm not going to pretend I regret coming back for you." He pressed his lips to the space where Echo's neck met their shoulder, chaste and hesitant. "We're in this together now, remember?"

Of course. Of-fucking-course. Echo crossed their arms over their chest and pulled away from Grand's touch. Refused to let themself miss the contact. "Yeah, I get it. We're a team. I know."

A strangled sound of frustration worked its way out of Grand’s throat. "Echo—"

"Grand Magnificent," they replied, not without a degree of frustration of their own.

Echo felt his weight shift behind them. But before they could consider what his next course of action would be, Grand rounded the chair they were perched on and dropped down into the one in front of them.

They moved at the same time—Echo jerking back in shock, and Grand reaching for them with his uninjured hand.

His palm landed on Echo’s cheek, much in the way it had back on the base, as they huddled together in the airlock. "For fuck’s sake, Echo, just listen."

Words failed them, so they tried to averted their gaze.

Grand’s fingers slipped down their cheek, then caught beneath their chin and tilted their head until they had no choice but to look him in the eye. "It’s not just about the team. I never meant for this to be about the team. This is so I don't owe you a debt. So we can be on the same level. So you know I’m not just someone you have to protect. To remind you that you can let yourself rely on me."

"Oh," Echo managed, as it clicked into place. "I see."

And Grand gave one of those infuriating little smirks before leaning in to kiss them. It was soft and careful, as the one to their neck had been, but deliberate. Not allowing for any misunderstanding.

Echo found themself falling into the rhythm of it. They leaned into his touch, sighed into the kiss as Grand’s grip shifted to trace the lines of their throat and curl around the back of their head. Grand tugged them forward, and they went, shifting from their seat to straddle Grand's lap.

When they broke away to take a breath, they brought their hands up to cradle Grand's face. He gazed up at them, eyes half-lidded, flush high on his cheeks, the ghost of that irritating smirk tugging at his lips. His stubble scraped against Echo's palms as they tilted Grand's head so they had a better angle to kiss him again.

Grand's fingers tangled in Echo's hair, ruining the careful braid he'd made of it, but Echo found that they didn't care. Or maybe that wasn't right. The warmth and solidness of him, his hand pressed to the small of their back, his soft lips underneath theirs, the gentle scrape of his blunt nails on their scalp as he ran his fingers through their hair… Echo sighed again, relaxed against Grand.

Echo rested their forehead against Grand's, bringing them nose-to-nose. This close, they could see the gold flecks that broke up the warm brown of Grand's eyes. Their breath mingled with his as they tried to gather their thoughts. Unfortunately, Grand continued to ruin their braid by pulling his fingers through it.

"You're messing up all your hard work," Echo teased, not unkindly. "You're going to have to start all over."

Grand chuckled, his hand never stopping. God, Echo had forgotten how _nice_ this could be. "Oh no. How awful." He did not sound the least bit perturbed. His fingers locked around some of the strands, intending to pull Echo down for another kiss.

A loud clatter of metal broke through the silence, and Echo jerked upright, muscles tensed. Grand’s hand dropped to his hip, but there was no gun or holster.

A beat, then the sound of Gig’s laughter echoed down the hall, followed by an indignant retort from Tender. The sounds of life on the ship flooded back into the room and with it, the realization of where they were.

"Fuck," they sighed, slumping over to press their forehead against Grand’s shoulder.

His shoulders shook with a silent chuckle. "That never really stops, does it?"

Echo didn’t need to ask for clarification, because no, nothing ever really did. They slid off his lap and onto their feet. "Just be glad no one walked in."

He shrugged and leaned back in the chair. Somehow, only Grand Magnificent could make even the most common of seats look like a throne he lounged in. "Your hair looks good like that," he said, wearing an expression to match his posture.

They didn’t blush, but they probably pouted. "I’ll fix this myself. Thank you for your help."

Grand reached out and caught their hand before they could move too far away. The smugness melted long enough for an honest smile to show through. He ran a thumb across their knuckles, mirroring Echo’s touch from earlier. "Any time."


End file.
